Grasp
by Cinders and Brimstone
Summary: It's not in your face but it's there simmering under the surface. The Boss Lady and the Mailroom Boy. Only fast-forward to ten years later when he's no longer the Mailroom Boy, but the Right Hand Man. How does something like that go down exactly? Awkward is how. Like Chunky Peanut Butter and Ten Year Old Bread probably. But hunger is one of the greatest motivators, they say...
1. Dare

_Kiss her?_

If there was ever a time he might get away with it, it would be tonight. She was on a high. Triumphant. Carefree. Open. _Inviting_…

Everything slowed… and stopped. Harvey's world froze and the moment stretched itself out.

Was he drunk? Most likely no. He'd only had two glasses of champagne… aside from that he'd not consumed for the day. And he had a liver of steel.

Was he still high?

He'd have to be high. High or crazy. Or having a psychotic break.

There were red ants marching up and down his spine. Scorpion venom in his eyes. Acid on his tongue. His entire system was malfunctioning.

System Error.

_God… _

_Help me._

He couldn't kiss her. There was a rule against that. Probably written into the by-laws. Probably written by her to boot.

She was laughing at something he'd said. Some nonsense that only he could make sound semi-intelligent. He'd said it just to make her laugh… _What had he said…_

Oh, right. He'd suggested that maybe they all go take a group piss in Louis' office, girls in one corner, boys in another. And maybe barbecue the cat, just because.

And she'd laughed. That big grin, all gums and teeth. She'd tossed her hair back over her shoulder, innocent as a schoolgirl and laughed.

God, she was sexy when she laughed. She was the numero uno in the building. One of the most powerful women in New York. One of the most powerful in America, he'd say… and yet, her winning feature, if you asked him, was her laugh. There was something so open about it. To the man off the street it might be no big thing but to him… To him it was rainbows and sunshine. A snow day and gummy bears. She could be a devil. She could be ruthless. She'd sue her own mother without blinking twice, but when she laughed he felt warm inside. Like a little boy again waking up on Christmas morning with a stocking full of gifts and a mugful of hot cocoa.

_I'm a grown man._

A grown man.

And she was a grown woman.

He loved her.

She loved/liked/was fond of/ tolerated him.

Why couldn't he kiss her? Red lips. Her lips were always red… They were always smiling. And even when they were scowling at him, he'd never minded too much.

Harvey smiled, letting her joy wash over him and feeling rightly proud of being the one who'd made her laugh.

_Shouldn't he have a reward? For all his efforts?_

_A taste of the forbidden fruit, perhaps?_

The world was spinning on a different axis. The planet had shifted out of orbit. The sun had gone down in the east and risen in the west. The oceans were dry. The mountains were crumbling. The earth was splitting open and they were all drowning in molten lava. The ozone layer was repairing itself.

_Kiss her?_

Not the first time he'd ever thought about it. He'd had a couple fantasies over the years. Nothing too elaborate, just your run-of-the-mill stranded on a remote island, last man on earth, fuck or die imaginations. They'd started years ago and came on him infrequently… He'd never been _lustful_ towards her… He'd simply filed it away that his boss/benefactor/best business friend was hot and looked absolutely stunning in a skinny black dress. Back when he was still wet behind the ears he'd nurtured a bit of a crush but that was all. He didn't spend days and nights mooning after her riddled with angst. Only losers did that. Usually, the thoughts of her would come on him in the lonely hours of the night. When he was all alone and safe in the walls of his house. When he had nothing else to think about. Rare times.

But now…there he was, in the office, in her presence, with music playing and a frothing bottle of champagne. Now, he couldn't _stop_ turning the idea over in his mind, refusing to let it go.

He was so close… He could very well get up, stand up take two steps forward and kiss her. What was stopping him?

There was only the sixty-seven per cent chance that she'd slap him.

They weren't alone. Mike was there... Donna was there… But what would they do? What _could_ they do? And he'd have to have witnesses anyway. You don't climb Mt. Everest and keep it a secret. Kissing her would be his Olympic gold medal.

He always liked showing her off. He always got a kick out of showing up anywhere with her on his arm…

_Jesus Christ! _She was still laughing. Was it that funny? Really it wasn't. Pee on someone's carpet? That's disgusting. Barbecue a cat? Who laughs at something like that?

_Is she laughing with me, or at me?_

He couldn't be sure.

He didn't really care. He was her pet. Her guard dog. Her poodle. Her parrot. Her trained monkey. Whatever she needed him to be on any given day. He could make a clown out of himself. Somedays he got to play knight in shining armour…

_If I kiss her, will she laugh?_

What would happen? She could bring him up on assault charges… but that was unlikely - it'd look bad for the firm. She could fire him, but that would look bad for the firm too. She could demote him all the way back down to associate, but that would be bad for the firm. She could banish his ass all the way to the 46th floor… and that would be slow torture.

She wouldn't be happy about it, he imagined. She'd be disappointed in him and she'd give him a look that said _really? You're like a son to me._

_Ugh_.

Being the favoured son of the boss lady had its privileges, he couldn't argue against that. He'd never really had a problem with it before. They had a nice simpatico going. They had a nice vibe. Finished each other's sentences on a good day…

No need to disrupt a good thing.

Or maybe he could make a good thing just a little bit better?

"Finally, we're back in business," Donna said, nudging him out of his reverie.

"I know," he cut her one of his trademark _I'm too cool for school _smirks. "I feel like celebrating."

"Ha," Jessica scoffed, face lit up. She pointed to the champagne bottle on ice. "What do you think we're doing. This is the good stuff."

"I know… but I drink champagne everyday…"

Mike, "You do?"

"Do you not?" A beat. "I feel like doing something _extra_ special. Something reckless…" He traced his fingers over the leather armrest of the chair he was sitting in.

They were both relatively young. So what if she was a couple years older than him? They were almost the same age. Yeah, she outranked him, but not by very, very much. He was senior partner now, not the lowly mailroom boy. He could grow a beard now. Had some chest hair. They'd look good together on a bed, naked and tangled up like a pretzel. He wasn't sure but she _seemed_ limber enough. She had that graceful little queen-of-the-world strut, all long legs and long neck and head held high, hair like a flag behind her.

If he could get a handful of that hair… He'd put one hand in her hair and use the other hand to pull her leg up out of the way…

_For the love of God…_

In a way, he supposed he owed it to her. When last had someone fucked her brains out? She didn't date. She didn't have a string of lovers following her around. All the while he'd been practising regularly, fine tuning his game.

He'd be undoubtedly the best fuck she ever had. Hands down. And if he wasn't, he'd hunt down whoever beat him and blow his brains out with a sawed-off shotgun.

Mike filled his glass with champagne and held it aloft for a toast. "I want to say a couple words in celebration..."

If everybody else in the world could disappear and leave him alone with Jessica for just one minute he'd be ever so grateful. Just for a minute. Just so he could kiss her. Then everything could go back to normal.

"Long live the queen," Mike finished.

"Long live the queen," Harvey muttered, downing his glass in one.

"Hey!" the door burst open and in stepped Harold, another one of _them_. He spread his arms wide, and Jessica stepped into them cheerfully.

Too cheerfully.

Harvey tried his best not to frown as he watched Harold spew empty words of congratulations. To be on the safe side he poured himself another glass.

This was his night. His and Jessica's. And maybe Mike's. Donna - he wasn't so sure about. She _had_ shredded vital evidence… but then if she hadn't, they'd never have looked into it the way they had and Daniel would still be on the throne… so okay, maybe Donna too, but what the fuck had Harold done to deserve champagne? Jack shit.

When the times were dark and grey, he'd been the only one to step up and pledge unwavering loyalty. He was the only one truly in her corner. Even Mike might have sided with Daniel if it hadn't been for his lack of a law degree and the whole illegality of his situation.

He'd earned at least a kiss. At least that. He'd been a good boy. Worked extra hard…

_Extra hard…_

He couldn't get a strong grip on the idea though. He couldn't completely imagine what she'd feel like. What she'd smell like. Was she a quiet one or a screamer? Would she claw her nails down his back and mark him. Top or bottom? Fast or _slow_? Hard or _soft_? Wild, or _tame? _

Most likely it'd be something strange. Something regal and off putting. Like fucking the queen of England.

_Ugh_.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she'd give as good as she got. Maybe she'd jack him up against a wall and make him feel like a blushing virgin all over again. Jessica Pearson wouldn't let him be in control. She'd show him a whole other side to fucking.

_Aaargh_! He raked his hand through his hair in red angry frustration as Harold took his leave. Jessica waved the man away and closed the door behind him. She turned, looked at him… and frowned.

"What's up with you, you look sick," she came towards him, concerned.

Did he? Did he really?

"You're pale and…" she touched the back of her hand to his forehead, "clammy… What happened, adrenaline rush too much for you?"

Okay, so he wouldn't kiss her. Not tonight at least. Sometime when Donna and Mike weren't standing there. Preferably when they weren't at the office either. It'd have to be somewhere where he had the upper hand, somewhere out of her jurisdiction. He took her hand, kissed it, gave it a gentle squeeze and let it go. "Sometimes I just get overwhelmed by it all. The beauty of it."

She grinned again. Big toothy grin. "Nothing better than staking your claim on what belongs to you."

Harvey's eyebrows shot up, "Really?"

A wink. "Really."

He shouldn't kiss her. He most definitely shouldn't…

Just as she was turning away he grabbed her hand. The very hand he'd just let go. He rose from his chair swiftly, started heading for the door.

Jessica nearly stumbled behind him, caught off guard. "What are you–"

"I've got a surprise for you." He was heading towards the elevator. Her grip on her hand as tight as ever. She didn't try to resist but if he wasn't going to take a chance. This was his one shot. As Eminem had said, _you only get one shot._

"What's the surprise?" she said, still laughing as she followed behind him.

"It's not really a surprise."

"Harvey…"

He grabbed a telephone directory from off a secretary's desk. "Trust me."

They stood in front of the elevator and waited for it.

Waited… Waited… Waited…

"What do you need the phonebook for?"

"Do you trust me?"

She smiled.

Then _ding, _the doors spread open.

And her smile faded. "You're really going to do this?" She stepped inside the elevator, her dress hugging every curve, revealing her figure perfectly.

_Why'd she have to be so damn tall?_

Was he really going to kiss her?

Deciding to jump into a volcano would be less daunting. Less terrifying.

He stepped inside the small metal room and let the doors close behind him.

_Ding._

48. 47. 46. 45...

He hit the emergency stop. Turned around to look at her. She was beautiful in the bright white light. Simply beautiful.

He moved over to her, took get by the shoulders and guided her to the wall.

"Harvey..." Just a whisper. "You don't get to do this."

"You don't know what I'm going to do." He set the phonebook down right in front of her.

Then he got up on it. Right in front of her. Right there in her space. Breathing her air.

"Feeling like the big man on campus now?"

In fact he was. He might consider wearing heels... It was weird. And nice.

He was just inches away. Only inches away… "Surprise." He leaned in until there was no room between them, their noses rubbing, their breaths mixing, both of their eyes wide open.

"This isn't a surprise," she said flatly.

"Oh?" Harvey pulled back, just a little to take her in. To take the moment in.

"No, it's not a surprise. You've been lusting after me for _years_."

"I haven't."

"You're always looking at me, you hang on my every word, your world revolves around me. I'm your queen. You're empress. You're divine ruler–"

"And I'm the one with the ego?" He stepped in again, closing the space between the two of them, pressing her into the wall.

"I'm taller than you."

"That's why I brought the phone book."

"That's why you _need_ the phonebook. You–" His lips brushed over hers for a split moment. "You sad, short, over compensating sorry excuse for–" He trailed his fingers up her neck slowly. She shuddered. Her body tried to sink further into the wall, futilely. "Sorry excuse for a man." He raked his fingers through her hair, pulling it all back from her face. "This is borderline incestuous."

"Uh huh," he smiled and kissed her. Really kissed her.

She pulled back when he was halfway through, flushed. "So what do I call you from now on? Oedipus?"

"As if I care what you call me."

She wiggled out of his grip, went around him, restarted the elevator.

Silence.

_44, 43, 42, 41, 40, 39…_

Silence.

_35, 34, 33, 32…_

"You can't just not talk to me. And don't call me Oedipus. First off, you're not my mother, you're my hot boss. Second, Daniel wasn't my father. Third, I didn't kill him, just got him thrown out. Fourth, you want me just as bad as I want you. This isn't some one-sided thing. This has been building for _years_. Since you picked me out of the mailroom. You cleaned me up, got me groomed up nice and neat. I got the five hundred dollar haircut and the thousand dollar shoes. I get my nails done every fortnight. You've shaped me. I was a diamond in the rough and you refined me. I stand before you now a made man. I am everything you want me to be! I am everything, so what else can you want? "

_Ding. _The elevator doors opened, and she whisked pass him with a smile. Graceful. Victorious. Arrogant as hell. "I told you," she said laughing.

"Told me what?"

"I'm taller than you."

The nightman at his desk got to his feet clumsily. Rushed to open the heavy glass doors for her.

"Of course you are in those heels," Harvey called after her.

"Even without the heels," she called back as she strode towards the door, "I'm taller on the inside."

"What?"

"Think about it."


	2. Dance

He shouldn't have kissed her. That much was clear to him now, but hindsight is 20/20 after all.

Really, honestly, he'd known it was a bad idea the moment it had popped up in his mind. It had been an evil, evil, wicked, troublesome thing to do.

_Kissing your boss…_

Who does that? Not people who like being employed, surely.

Harvey stared into the abysmal depths of his wardrobe…

And the bogeyman stared back.

"What do I wear today?" he asked and waited for the phantom to respond.

"_Hickey-Freemon", _

"Pass." Now more than ever before he needed to be dashing. Hickey-Freeman didn't say dashing. It said successful. It said safe. It said 10 year wedding anniversary. He wasn't going for that. He was going for D'Artagnan – rogue musketeer. Not the homely vicar from the chapel down the street. And he'd never worn Hickey-Freeman in his life, no need to start now.

"_Ralph Lauren, then?" _ the bogeyman suggested.

Ralphio? He looked good in Ralph. He looked dashing. They fit him like angel wings. Made him feel like twenty again. Made him look like twenty again… And he did _not_ want to look like twenty again. Yes, it was Friday and yes he always for Ralph on Friday, but this was a special Friday… This was the Friday after THURSDAY. There was something to prove now. He needed to look as though he was the king of the world, not a glorified mailroom boy.

"_Caraceni?"_

Huh. Caraceni. .. Was he going for Italian gazillionare? Not really. And he only had two. The one he'd bought for the day he got his name on the door, and the other one he'd gotten with his first salary. Six thousand seven hundred good ones… Worn the day he'd graduated Havard. Jessica had been there that day, the only person he'd invited. She'd watched over him like a hot, female, more intimidating version of Abel Magwitch. The best benefactor a man could ask for.

Thou shalt not make out with your benefactor.

Harvey flinched. "Anything else?"

"_What exactly are you looking for?"_

"I'm looking for something that says Harvey Specter might as well be the last man on earth because you don't get any better. It has to say _look at me _without actually saying it. I'm not screaming for attention but I want it. I want all eyes on me, but not directly on me. I want to be constantly in the periphery of everyone's thoughts. Constantly. I want to be on her mind. In a good way. I want to look sharp. Professional. Like king of the fucking world."

"_Zenga?"_

"Too sharp. I'm senior partner, I don't need to wear a name tag."

"_Gucci?"_

"Too boring. I sleep in Gucci."

"_Dolce?"_

"You can buy Dolce at the local GAP. Come on, get your head in the game."

Silence filled the apartment.

"… _The Simon Spurr three piece you bought last month?"_

Harvey paused, considering. Why not? Why not wear something new? And the Spurr fit him like a tailor made glove. He'd look hot. Smouldering, in fact. However angry she was, she'd not be able to fire him if he looked smouldering. She might be the definition of an Ice Queen but even in the heights of winter, a woman is a woman is a woman. Somewhere deep inside her, she had a pair of ovaries… Or undescended testicles…

He reached into the closet. "Simon Spurr it is."

He glanced at the time, 9.46.

10.57 his dresser clock said. He'd sure as hell taken his time, but the important thing was that he looked good.

Self-flattery is no kind of flattery at all but he was a bachelor, who else was going to flatter him?

And it wasn't even flattery, truth is as truth was, he looked good. Like a full grown, super-sexy, super-successful, super good-looking man.

She couldn't fire him.

She wouldn't.

He was her trusted little man-puppy who sometimes shit on the carpet. The puppy that had a bad habit of chewing on her shoes... The puppy that ate its weight in dog chow... The puppy that cost a shitload to put through Havard... The cutest puppy in the world that had a way of getting a little frisky... And Jessica Pearson did not like frisky puppies. She liked dobermen. German Shepherds, same as Hitler.

She'd never put him out in the rain though, Hitler she may be. She'd scowl, she'd make a fuss, rage a little… but she'd not cast him out.

It might be weird though.

_Wouldn't it?_ How could it not be weird? He had crossed a vital line. He'd taken one giant leap for mankind and ended up adrift in a dark hole of empty space.

Could they go back to where they were _before _he decided to kiss her?

Could someone help him get into a time machine? It didn't have to be a fancy, new model gizmo; any rinky-dink contraption would suffice, as long as he could go back to yesterday, the THURSDAY, and undo what he did.

Why'd he taken such risk?

What if he showed up and she just totally ignored him?

Worse, what if she treated him like some annoyance under her shoe? Like if he was _Louis?_

He'd have to kill himself.

Then she'd cry at his funeral… She'd wear black. Herve Leger. And five inch heels. With her hair swept over one shoulder just that way to make her neck look swanlike and perfect—

Someone was knocking at the door. "Harvey?"

Harvey froze, just as he was putting the finishing touches on his hair. Think of the devil...

11.03

Her eyes swept over him dismissively as he opened the door. No 'good morning.' No 'how-do-you-do?' No 'fancy a cup of tea'. She just stood there, rudely cutting him into pieces with her eyes.

And she wasn't in Leger. Herrera, if he had to guess. Form fitting, curve hugging, hip accentuating Herrera. He'd never noticed before, but there was something a little Latina to her... Something in the eyes, and the hair and the hips…

God, between the two of them they'd make some killer babies. Just think about the genes…

They'd have to get a surrogate though, Jessica would never let some freak growth invade her personal space for nine months. Jessica Pearson wouldn't do pregnant.

Or she might, because there used to be a time when he thought that she wouldn't do 'married' yet she'd gone off and gotten hitched to some diseased loser. No offense to people with diseases, but he couldn't help but think that any bastard who actually cheat on Jessica deserved to be cursed with a thousand plagues. You'd have to be a special kind of jackass to do something like that. The other girl was pretty, smart, totally the girl next door type but who in their right mind would go after the girl next door when you were shacked up a spine-crushing Amazonian warrior queen battle guru? If she'd been a man, she might have been president. Or King. Yeah, she'd turn the continent into the U_K_A, bringing in the Mexican and the eskimoes, banishing all the Louis types to Yukon mining camps.

_Do I have a fetish?_

Was he developing one? Would crushing on your older black hot all-powerful boss lady be considered a fetish?

It just might be…

"Going somewhere?"

_Act cool. _"I was thinking of stopping by the office…"

"Oh, really? Why? You're senior partner, is not as if it matters whether you're there or not. It's not like you have responsibilities…"

"That's what I have Mike for."

She paused, not looking at him, just taking in the décor of his apartment… He'd made a few changes since she'd last set foot in his lair. Gotten rid of the coffee table... Gotten rid of all the tables, in fact. "Lots of space."

"Jack Nicholson, Batman."

Her face lit up. _"Michael Keaton, _Batman."

"They both say the same line, that's what makes it memorable."

"You have way too much free time on your hands."

"Don't tell Mike that. He needs to think that what he does is important. It helps his self-esteem."

"And you care about Mike's self-esteem."

"There's no right way to answer that."

Okay. So he wasn't fired then. She was in a good mood. This was happy Jessica. His favourite version.

And she was in his apartment…

How hard would it be to get her into his bed?

Very?

She was such an enigma, his hot, all powerful boss lady. What did it usually take to get her into bed? Mr ALS Jackass had managed it so it couldn't be anything too out of the extraordinary…

What would it take to turn her on?

Harvey sauntered over to his mini bar, pulled two glasses. "What are you having?"

"I didn't come over here for an early morning buzz, Harvey."

_So why are you here? Social call?_ He couldn't help the corners of his lips from tugging upwards.

She scowled. "And I'm not here because I had a sudden insatiable urge to see you... But we have to talk."

"About?"

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you."

The corners of Harvey's mouth pulled up a little higher as he reached for a bottle of wine that only cost him a couple hundred - the cheap stuff. "How can I be of service madam?"

"Service? You think after that stunt you pulled, that we'd just go back to business?"

"I don't ever want to go back to business with you, Jessica." Cue the cocky smirk. "You think, after knowing me a decade, that I'd want to go back to business?" He strutted over to her as she leant against his polished marble counter. She looked dangerous, eyes sharp and large, her lips cutting an almost cruel smile... Her boots weren't just made for walking, they were made for breaking hearts and kicking ass. It wouldn't take much imagination to picture her stilettos skewering through a red bloody beating heart.

She might as well be the devil.

A beautiful she-devil.

He put the glass down beside her on the counter, and just hovered in her space... She smelt like shea butter and jasmine.

Mexican standoff. Boom, bang, bang bang. Let's light it up, fellas.

He pressed in, and pushing himself in closer... And closer... Until...

His lips closed the same distance between them ever so slowly. So soft... How could she be so soft? His dark valkyrie. His amazon woman. This behemoth of New York. This titan of justice... He kissed her, and the woman who meant _more to him than his mother ever did. The woman who was his reason for waking up every morning. He angled his head, just that perfect angle, and pushed his tongue into her mouth. Coffee and vanilla. _

Oh, she was just a basket of flavours today, wasn't she? He deepened the kiss, pressing himself and his advantage further.

And then she pulled back, lipstick smudge free. Eyes clear and sharp, and completely unfazed. What would it take to rock her boat? What would it take to get her?

_The gods favour the bold. _

_He sent a hand up into her hair, the glorious mane, and pulled her head forward to his. Lips crashed, teeth collided. He pulled a fist of hair tight, tight enough to hurt and waited for that moment where... Her mouth opened and he was in again. Tasting her. Tongue against tongue. _

_5, 4, 3, 2... _

Shit.

He paused a moment, letting the gravity of the situation sink in, giving her a moment to adjust to the idea. Sure enough, she could feel his erection. It was there between them like an elephant in he room. A pulsatile, domesticated elephant.

Her forhead came to rest against his. Like a plea, "Where are you going with this? Huh Harvey? Where does this end?"

"You're worried about the ending when the story hasn't even started yet?"

"I was never keen on shakespearian tragedy."

Harvey cocked one of his lazy, and lacy smiles.. "I'm flattered.. You think I'm Shakespeare. I'm more of a survivalist than Shakespeare would allow." His cock was still hard, he was still wedged up against her, he could feel her heat just pouring off of her... And they were talking literature. Go figure.

Her hips moved just the slightest bit against him, just the teeniest bit of a grind... A moan came up and strangled itself in his throat.

"Can you imagine just how completely awkward our working relationship is going to become?"

He ground himself into her, just the slightest bit harder, just to let her know how very little of a rat's ass he could give about their working relationship.

His fingers reached down for the hem of her dress. She started working at his tie. Nimble fingers making quick work on what had taken hin near an hour.

In one fluid movement he had the dress over her head.

Black bra. Black panties. Sexy as fucking hell, as he'd expected.

God, and she was ripped. Did she work out? Did she go to some gym somewhere and get sweaty?

Or just crazy good metabolism?

_Just look at that body... _

How old was she? In human years? She was older than him, (fact), which would put her in her forties for the very least. Late forties, most likely. Maybe even early fifties...

She could be in her seventies, he was still going to fuck the living daylights out of her.

Oh sweet Jesus.

Something about it was just too much. He felt dizzy.. Lightheaded. Just a little bit woozy from all the shea butter and vanilla.

The air on cloud nine was proving just a little thin.

He pulled back just a little, looked her square in the eye... Yes, this was Jessica.

The Jessica.

Jessica Pearson.

Angels were singing somewhere. Dark fallen angels who'd taken up voyeurism albeit, but angels none the fucking less.

He reached around to unhook her bra with the one hand and finished off his glass of wine with the other. Cue the 'king of the world' smirk. "Just so we're clear, you're giving me the rest of he day off. Right?"


	3. Declare

**AN- Sorry for the wait! But better late than never! **

**As much as I ship Jarvey, and as hot as they are, this is the hardest thing to write! But the people demanded and I am but a servant so I'm just gonna finish this off with a slightly citrusy chapter. That gives a glimmer of resolution at least. Had to change the rating to an M… Tried my best with this, but alas. **

**Saw the trailer for season 3 though, so we should be getting some Jarvey material out of that hopefully. Love you guys**

* * *

_There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death._

Funny how that singular thought should occur to him right then and there, just at the precise moment when he was sliding himself into the woman. _The_ _Woman_.

_The end thereof are the ways of death._

Death. Capital _D,_ small –_eath._

_There is a way which seemeth right unto a man… _Like how she felt around him. One hand on her hip, the other holding her thigh in place. His neck, his lips, his teeth in the crook of her neck. His eyes shut. All his senses shut down, all his mind shut down so that the only part of him with any function at all was his dick inside her. And probably his heart, because he could hear the deafening sound of his own blood in his ears.

Slower than ice melting, hell, slower than ice freezing, he sank into her with a combination of him thrusting up and she grinding down on him.

_A way that seemeth right…_

It definitely did seemeth right, for damn sure… As if all his life had been leading up to this moment. As though it was all worth it. As though his naively gullible, broke-down father hooking up with his road trash mother had had a greater purpose besides just randomly creating two fucked up children. As though his mother had been _destined_ to fuck his life up just enough to make him just pathetic enough for Jessica be interested enough to send him to Harvard and concerned enough to care enough to not mind being fucked by him against his kitchen counter.

_Breathe…_

_And stop…_

He stilled.

All of this, all the nakedness and the smiling, and the inhaling other people's scent, and the tongue-tasting, and skin-tasting, and the phone-book and all the general feels and emotions and that fucking sensation in his belly like the world was exploding. Or imploding. Whatever the fuck.

This was not what Harvey Specter did.

_Stop._

_Mayday! _

_Fucking mayday, jackass! Abort!_

Alarms were going off all over the fucking place. Sirens were screaming. Volcanoes were erupting. Thunderstorms. Mudslides. A fucking _monsoon_ of emotion. A maelstrom of chaos, discord and red-hot bloody carnage was descending upon him with all the grace of a tsunami conjured by Poseidon himself.

Like Achilles, he was playing with dangerous things. Dangerous people. People who could crush him if they wanted to. Crush him and then fly back to the cushy seat on the pantheon of almighty gods.

And he'd just be the discarded man.

He did not do love.

Not falling in love. Not making love.

Mild affection was supposed to be the cut-off point. Hadn't he decided on that? Five minutes after he'd seen her that first time in the corridor, arm in arm with a younger, less shitty Hardman. She hadn't even noticed his existence that whole day… That whole week…

And why exactly was his life flashing before his eyes?

_Stop._

He should have stopped when he'd kissed her hand. But he hadn't.

He should have stopped when he had his tongue inside her mouth. Coffee and fucking vanilla. But no, he had persevered.

He had asked.

Now he was receiving.

And he was confused as fuck.

One does not simply bend Jessica Pearson over a counter and fuck her. He should not have his dick _inside _Jessica Pearson.

…_Death?_

_As in punishable by death? _ It had to be illegal, what he was doing. Striping her out of her armour and her Jessica-ness and sticking his lowborn dick inside her like she was just some artificial vagina on a cow farm. Not really. Like she was some common pheasant woman who he'd pumped a couple drinks in. Like she was some secretary, some real estate agent, some banker, some model, some weed-pusher's sister, some human woman.

Sacrilege, wasn't it? Like going to an art exhibit with a can of spray paint. Like dry humping Michelangelo's David.

He should pack a bag for Mexico, get a fake ID, burn off his fingerprints…

What the royal fuck was he doing? He should run. Head for the hills. Castrate himself for his sins...

His teeth grazed her skin, as he angled up inside her. "How's that feel?" he heard himself ask in a voice he couldn't recognize for the life of him. Low, gravelly, disgustingly guttural. Like some kind of animal…

He might be an animal. Loyal basset hound, monkey, dragon, whatever… but she was Jessica Pearson.

She was Jessica fucking Pearson. The woman who had fucking nurtured him in her metaphoric womb for five, six fucking _years, _never mind the cunt who did it for nine months and made it out to be the biggest regret of her life.

This woman had made him.

"It feels good," she gasped. Just as he pulled out.

"Yeah?" He took two steps back… filled his lungs with actual air. "I call that the _invasive manoeuvre." _

"Harvey?"

Annoyance if anything. A scolding was coming. A _spanking_… He couldn't help that last idea. Blame the audiobook of Fifty Shades on his phone. Yes, it was a chick book. Mommy porn. But it was about a guy with legendary sexual prowess, how could he not read it? For comparison sake…

Then he'd started _really_ thinking about it.

And Jessica being Jessica really wasn't making it any easier. He'd swing either fucking way for her. He'd take the spanking and the riding crops… Or he'd dish it out. If that was what she wanted. He'd build a fucking playroom around her. Dedicate it to her, if that was what she wanted. Some kind of sexual awakening…

But by the sweet love of Christ, he doubted it. Any more sexual awakening between the two of them and somebody would die. Just keel over dead.

Most likely him because he was losing his shit. Or having a small stroke, possibly. He reached around her, grabbed the bottle of wine and swallowed a couple of deep gulps.

_What to fucking do now?_

Stare-down.

Naked stare-down.

Mexican Standoff II

He'd done the hard part already. She was there. In his house. Naked. Wet and willing and wanting. Repeat, naked. From the waist up and from the waist down. Full frontal naked in his house.

His elbows found the counter and he tried his damned fucking best to pull off _blasé_.

"Chickening out?" she shot, "Or you're just now remembering you have an std and you're wondering if you should disclose this before or after this gets done?" Lips still red. Full. Hair, a little tossed, even more perfect since it had been his hands that had been through it, doing the tossing. And the pulling.

"No." Blasé. "I'm just running through all the templates I have in mind for this situation, deciding which one is best."

"Your pocketbook of sexual fantasies about me," she grinned, mockingly. "I'm flattered."

Blasé. "It's just a general playbook. I operate by the one size fits all philosophy."

"Well, decide on something before I put my clothes back on because your window of opportunity – and that is what this is for you in case you're confused – is closing. Rapidly."

"I know," he said wistfully. Lazily. "But I don't want to waste this on a casual five minute fuck…"

One of her eyebrows arched up slowly. Dangerously. "I don't do blowjobs so don't even think about it."

"I'd never ask you for one. That's what I keep a hooker on retainer for."

"I don't do anal, either."

"I've got a hooker for that too."

"So what do you want?"

Typical Jessica. Negotiator Supreme. "I want… you… to…" his lips curled up into a smile as he set the wine bottle down with a thump. "Ask for it."

Cue the trademarked J. Pearson _I'mma-crush-your-ass_ smirk.

Nothing more foreboding in the world… Divinely _arousing _as well. Fear was creeping up his spine. His heart was beating so fast, his dick was so hard, he literally didn't have enough blood getting to his brain.

Amazing, really, that he was still hard...

Surprising, really, that he was still conscious.

Like trying to fuck Godzilla… Like attempting verbal foreplay with Godzilla before you fucked it. "Ask for it," he repeated, backing away, step by step by step. "Just so we're clear here on who is providing the service. Who is doing whom the favour. You know…" he shrugged, "For bookkeeping."

"I don't have to ask for it." Flat.

"Well,_ I'm_ not gonna, so maybe we should put our clothes back on… finish this bottle, which is really good by the way… and you can go back to the office… finish up whatever paper work you have to…" He used his toes to pick up her underwear from the carpet. Black, mesh and lace. Effortlessly classy. He spun it around on his finger like a flag. "I've been to London… I've been to France. Something something underpants," he sing-songed.

She only stared at him. Cold hard. "That's not how it goes."

"I fucking care how it goes?" he smirked. "You're fucking naked in my fucking apartment and fucking wet for me, I, Harvey Specter… And before you deny it, remember that I was already inside you like 2 and a half minute ago. I've _been_ there. I have felt the tightness, the heat ... and the humidity so none of this is random conjecture." He reached the bookcase, looking for a place, and spotted his old boxing trophy from the old days… He deposited the set of panties in the cup. "You don't mind, do you?"

She didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there… like Hera, ready to smite.

"Just tell me what you want to do," he pressed on, casual as ever, drifting languidly through his living room. _Peacocking_… for lack of a better phrase… If peacocks were known for strutting around with their dicks out and their balls swinging. "I mean," he reached the back of his couch in his living room and leaned against it, arms bracing him lazily, "I don't _mind_ fucking you… If that's what _you_ want." He pointed to his erection, the almost painful, seriously distracting flagpole, jutting up from his hips. "I'm good to go whenever you are. However you want to do it – standing; sitting; on your back; on your belly; upside down; missionary; dirty missionary; holy missionary; cowgirl; reverse cowgirl; shepherdess; batgirl; Boom-Boom Boomerang; plank; side plank; reverse side plank; cowgirl on a side plank; stampede; crazy scissors; the pogo stick - you'll have to do most of the work in that one, but you've got the abs for it, obviously; the Triple Lindey; Moonlanding; Apollo 14; Concubine in a Car Crash – but you'd need to be less than 5"2' so cross that one out; the Ballerina; Ballerina 2; Ballerina 3; Ballerina in Pakistan; Ballerina with a machete–"

"Ballerina with a machete." Her eyes twinkled as she mirrored his easy stance, leaning against his polished marble counter… Kitchen Counter to Living Room Sofa. Could have been miles between them. Could have been millimetres.

_The Standoff of the Two Sexiest People on this Earth Continues… _Read all about it. NC-17.

"I don't have a machete," he answered with another shrug.

"So why'd you mention it?"

"Fine. I have a machete. Honest answer – I don't _trust_ you with a machete."

"Oh, come on," she rapped her nails on his countertop, looking just the slightest bit bored. "Yolo," she said yawning.

"Hm," he shrugged again. Hard to do when you don't have clothes on, but he was managing all right, he'd say.

Then out of the blue. "How many women have you had here on this counter?"

"19."

"Only?"

"I do most of my work in the bedroom, as antiquated and prudish as that might seem."

"And how many on the floor?"

"In this apartment, you mean, or the grand total of women I've carpet-fucked in my entire life?"

Bland, "On this particular carpet."

"24."

"How many in the shower?"

"Before or after I retiled?"

"After."

"7. Only the ones I let sleep over. Zoe and Scotty you know. Michelle, Sarah, Kimberly, and a twin from Chinatown. You remember that caterer Louis recommended when-"

"Kitchen?"

"Zero. Because that's where I _eat_."

"And Donna." Causal as rain in the rainforest, she just slipped that in.

"Again, not where I eat. She's a work colleague."

"And I'm…"

"You're Jessica, remember? Rules don't apply to you."

She sighed. "You're a whore, you know that? A dirty man-whore."

"Can we get on with it?" he tilted his head a little. Copied her yawn. "I know it's been a while since someone's fucked you–"

She flinched visibly.

"Fucked you properly, at least." He bent down, scooped up her dress from where he had flung it, enjoying the feel of the material in his hand… "But if you wanna go, I'm not stopping you. Come and get it."

"Bring it."

"You're the one who wants it… _Needs_ it... You're a big girl, Jess. Accustomed to taking what you want… Come. Take it..."

God, she was beautiful. His fingers tightened defensively as she approached him. There really was no way he was letting her get her clothes back on. He'd burn the fucking dress on his stove if he had to. Damn the lack of a fireplace when you need one. His breath tightened a little bit. A third element mixing into his Flight or Fight Response. Coincidentally starting with an F as well. No exaggerated swaying hips, no overt attempt at seduction, just Jessica being Jessica. Effortlessly sensual. Mind-numbingly powerful… Categorically stunning, as always. With a killer smile.

Like fucking sunshine.

She came right up to him, naked, barefoot, and half a centimetre taller than him, one hand on his cheek, condescending as hell… "Who says I want you?"

"I say it."

"You flatter yourself, but you've got balls. I have to give you that."

He leaned into her "You've had a grip on my balls for over ten years and you're just figuring that out?" Flicked his tongue out, caught a little bit of her lip. "Seeing is believing, though…"

The cocky, distracting smile still hadn't left her lips. Red. Always red lips. Her hand slid from his cheek around to grip his jaw, fingers strong… "How am I supposed to play into your fantasy, huh? Am I the Schoolteacher? The Nun who doesn't wear panties? Hmm?"

"Oh, that's an old one. Been there, done that. With an actual nun. Who actually didn't wear anything at all in terms of underwear."

"Yeah?" And suddenly her hand was on his cock. The smile flaring just a little brighter at his involuntary reaction. "You want me so bad–"

"So fucking bad–" His lips found hers again. '_Crashed_ _down_ _on_ _hers_,' if a romance novelist/part-time court stenographer was in the room with them. His tongue found hers, and it seemed he just couldn't get her mouth open enough. "Same way you want me. The same way you love me. Because you _know _that no one on this planet will love you the way I will. No one _can_." He wanted to be dramatic and get his word out, but he could keep his mouth off of her.

Like a cannibal, in a weird, erotic way.

As much as cannibalism can be erotic.

"I know you want me. Despite what I believe and what you believe, you _are_ human. And you can't help it. You don't want to be here. I know that. You want to be in your high tower on your high throne..." And then one of his hands started to drift… Down between her breasts, he'd resist that temptation for now, down her belly, down, down down… And then he went up on his toes to whisper in her ear. "But even Galadriel, the Ice Queen of all Ice Queens, had needs. Even she had desires. A secret garden that needed tending." He trailed his finger through her hair, slid casually against her slit, avoiding her clit with clinical precision. Nevermind the heat. Nevermind the moisture. Nevermind the fucking throbbing of his own sex. "I can be your fucking Celeborn." He let a finger push up into her. "I can be the Aragorn to your Arwen. Just tell me what you want."

Silence.

Except for the sound of his fingers working her.

"_Anything you want… you got it," _he dry hummed slow into the shell of her ear, as he stroked away, "_Anything you_ _need… you got it. Anything at all… you got it. Baby, you got it._"

"All I've got so far is a finger," she purred right back into his ear. So odd hearing her speak, when she was so close he could feel the air vibrating inside her. Like thunder.

"You want to feel me go balls deep inside you?" He kissed her again, rough, "So hard, you won't be able to stand, sit, walk, even taste food? Cause I can do that - fuck the taste out of your mouth. I can make you forget your own name." A hand went to her hair, making a fist of it, her eyelids fluttering close, lips parting in one sinful erotic gasp. "All you have to do is ask. And we'll get this on like Donkey Kong."

And she laughed. Right there in his face. "I can_not_ believe I call you my best closer. Lord of the Rings and Donkey Kong referenced in the same breath. Secret Garden? Seriously."

Eh? "That was just off the top of my head. I really wasn't expecting you to come here today."

"Or you'd have prepared a better argument than this," Doubt and condescension thick in the air. "Surely."

"Most surely." _What is happening here_? Because it felt unerringly as though he was getting lectured from his boss. _What_?

She sighed. Took his face in his hands. "This was not smooth."

He nodded.

"Way too much thinking going on, considering that this is _you_ _and_ _me_. If I showed up for a fuck session at Mike's house, or God forbid Louis' house, I'd expect this talk of Lord of the Rings and Donkey Kong–"

"So we're just going to have a random, non-descript… fuck-session..."

"Which part of me getting naked in your kitchen was unclear?"

"No strings attached?" _I want strings, dammit! I want strings. I want a legally binding document. I want at least a fifty-year contract. Kinda like marriage but more binding.  
_

"Well," she leaned in, her forehead touching his for a cool, calm moment. The fingers of both her hands traveling up from his cheeks… into his hair… mussing it up, undoing an hour of careful labour. "I'm not opposed to strings."

He couldn't help but chuckle, "And how do you feel about slip knots? Metaphorically."

* * *

**Yes, cheesy, I know and not limey enough to qualify as a lemon, but this is all I could come up with! I have not mastered the Jarbey Lemon. It is a complicated thing to do and I have a new deep respect for everyone who was brave enough to try.**

**And that's it for this fic, but I'll most likely do some one shots at the very least when S3 starts. LOVE THIS SHIP LIKE CRAZY! :o It's crazy, but you can see it clear as day if you squint a little and slant your head just a little. I HAVE to believe that it's intentional. No way they have all that crazy sezy chemistry for them to end up sworn enemies... Unless they end up in a Batwman-Catwoman Love-Hate thing which I'd be okay with.**

**Come on, Jessica walks into the bathroom to chew him out and all I'm thinking is this must be the sexiest chew out any man has ever received from his boss in any workplace ever. "Boy..." **


End file.
